


every little thing she does is magic

by leiascully



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell
Genre: Community: smut_tuesdays, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-04
Updated: 2008-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trick of being married to a magician was remembering that even the Greatest Magician of the Age (really, whom did Norrell think he was fooling?) was also a fine strong young English man, with fine strong young English appetites.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every little thing she does is magic

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: post-Portugal, pre-Lost Hope  
> A/N: Title is, of course, from The Police's song of the same name.   
> Disclaimer: _Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell_ and all related characters are the property of Susannah Clarke and Bloomsbury. No profit is made and no infringement is intended.

The trick of being married to a magician was remembering that even the Greatest Magician of the Age (really, whom did Norrell think he was fooling?) was also a fine strong young English man, with fine strong young English appetites. It was a simple enough matter of giving the servants the evening off (and sending Jeremy on some errand or another, lest he be overscrupulous in his dedication to his master), removing her underthings and then going to drape herself over Jonathan's shoulder until he noticed she was there.

"Look at this, Bell," he said, jabbing one long finger at the scrawl of his notes or at some smudged words on a page. "The implications are astounding."

"Oh yes?" she said, putting the tip of her nose behind his earlobe. She wasn't one of those society wives who had no interest in her husband's work, but he soon rambled off into flights of fancy beyond her comprehension, which didn't matter much, because she was concentrating on tracing the sinews in his neck. He had come back from Portugal with new freckles, and she circled each charming one with the edge of her nail.

"And if we take into account Belasis' something or other, well, it's all quite," he exclaimed, and then sucked in his breath as she kissed just behind the corner of his jaw, her tongue finding the heat of the blood under his skin.

"You were saying something, my love?" she murmured, pressing her breasts into his shoulder so that the lace of her bodice pulled tight. He turned his face to look at her and almost put his long nose into the shadows of her cleavage.

"Belasis," he said faintly. "Ahem. Belasis' theories on the magical properties of objects possessing the capability to reflect."

"Go on," she said, shifting away from him and sitting daintily on the edge of the table, the book pressing into her thigh.

"Tremendous implications for the working of magic over long distances," he said, leaning over the book again, and by consequence, the better part of her lap. She let her leg swing just the slightest bit, so that her calf brushed his knee.

"That sounds wonderful," she said encouragingly. "Perhaps if the Duke of Wellington has need of you again, you may be able to cast spells on the French from here and I shan't have to miss you for years at a time."

"It would take a great deal of work," he said, bending closer to the book. She patted his head fondly and twined her fingers through the curling fringe at the nape of his neck, brushing all the sensitive places just under his hairline.

"You're due at the barber, my love," she said, trailing her fingers over the back of his head, caressing him gently.

"Mmm," he said abstractedly. "That feels nice, Bell."

"Tell me about Belasis," she said, still massaging his scalp lightly.

"He says that the reflective properties of various objects can be harnessed by the magician and bent by his will, so that even a flat surface like, hmm, like a mirror can be treated as a parabolic focus for the spell," he said. "And a resilient reflective surface...a surface inherently resilient and capable of fracturing or refocusing...a pool of water, to take an instance, can be used by the magician to...d---, Bell, those fingers of yours pull the thoughts right out of my head."

She was demure. "I am sorry if they do, Jon. But it is so nice to have you near again. I will leave you to your studies, if you like."

He leaned into her hand. "No, no. It will serve me well to rest my eyes a moment."

"They must be tired," she said soothingly, "for all you have done to-day is read. I shall have Jeremy bring extra candles tomorrow."

"Nevermind the candles," he said, rubbing his cheek against her palm, his long nose brushing her wrist. "I shall just fill my eyes up with you and that will ease all of my difficulties." He set his chin against the heel of her hand and gazed up at her. She flushed with pleasure, and pushed the book away a bit with her other hand.

"You look at me as if I were full of some magic that you wished to comprehend," she said, her leg pressed a little against his knee.

"And so you are," he replied. "All manner of incomprehensible enchantments."

"There is no explanation for a wife in Belasis?" She nudged the book, tipping it closed. "No? Not in Sutton-Grove? Not in the chronicles of the Argentines?"

"Not in the whole of Norrell's library could be found any spell with half as much charm as you have." He reached down and curled his fingers around her ankle. He had calluses since the war and they snagged a little on the silk of her stockings.

"Only a magician would flatter one so," she said, and leaned down for a kiss. For a man who had been so studious, he was surprisingly attentive to her mouth, his lips firm and somewhat dry. His long fingers were warm around her ankle. She bent further towards him, her hand braced on the arm of his chair and the other on his shoulder. She nipped at his mouth, coaxing him back from his books and the Faerie roads of his thoughts, back to her world of the flesh and blood they lived in. His tongue slid against hers, and he made a little grunt of surprise as she pushed her knee between his. His mouth slipped sideways and then he was kissing her throat, drawing a line of damp heat down to her collarbones and her cleavage, his teeth scraping the tops of her breasts so that she sighed with pleasure.

"Nothing at all in Sutton-Grove," he murmured into the hollow between her breasts, his tongue flicking out. "Really, Bell, you could have asked."

"We both know that isn't true," she said in gentle reproof. "Besides, every one likes to have the sense of magic now and again."

"You are filled to the very brim with it," he said. "How the devil does this fasten again?"

She laughed and sat up, fiddling with the hooks and laces of her bodice. He stroked up her calf to her knee, and put a hand on each side of her thighs, his forearms disappearing under her skirts. "There we are. Not off, but looser."

"You minx," he said with astonishment, his fingers exploring her inner thighs so that she trembled on the edge of the table and bit her lip. "You did plan this."

"Of course I did," she said. "You are more often in the library than in the bed room lately. Even a magician's wife expects some attention, Jonathan."

"Well, you shall have it," he said, pushing up her skirts in a froth to plant a kiss on the side of her knee through the silk. He blew across the mark of his kiss and up her thigh, and she shivered again. "Shall we retire?"

"It seems to me we have what needs to hand," she said, eying his trousers, which bulged appropriately. She leaned down precariously to undo the buttons of his flies, working his member out through the opening. It was hot and firm in her hand, and stood to attention, incongruous among all the books and papers. She giggled like a virgin, and Jonathan grinned.

"Well," he said to his lap, "don't just stand there, fellow. Salute when you see a lady!" His thighs tightened and it made a little bobble, almost a bow, and Arabella laughed in earnest, Jonathan chuckling alond. "Bell, Bell, Arabella," he said, and held out his arms, "come to me."

She slid off the table and hitched her skirts over his lap, settling a knee on either side of his thighs, his fingers reaching up into her, spreading her wetness. She murmured with pleasure. The sinews in his neck were beginning to stand out as he stretched up to kiss her again, his mouth hungry now, demanding. She answered his fervor, her hands unknotting the collar of his shirt and reaching down to smooth the hairs of his chest. His thumb slipped over her, finding the sweet spot, circling it until she was panting against his cheek, mewling and nearly helpless. His long fingers slid into her again and she rocked her hips against his hand until he pulled away for a moment and took himself in hand, guiding himself up into her. She sank down onto him, notching her hips against his, the fabric of his trousers a little rough against the tender skin. His hand slid out from under her skirts to tighten on her hip and he gasped as she clenched around him. He tucked his mouth against her breasts and kissed them, sucking hard enough to leave bruises that she would have to cover. The candles set around the room seemed very bright, and she stared at the blue of one inner flame until the image of it danced before her eyes.

"Oh, my love," he said, and she rose and sank, rose and sank, watching the blood rise in his face and the pupils of his eyes enlarge. The pressure of him was too great to bear; she had the sensation of being on the edge of a cliff, of tumbling over. Her clothes all seemed too tight, for every where they were rubbing, holding her together as she was tumbling to pieces, and Jonathan was murmuring her name, kissing the corner of her mouth, bringing her back.

"I am here," she said with a dizzy smile, and he surged up into her as she anchored herself with the arms of the chair, his hips wild between her knees. His hands were fumbling at her hips, at her shoulders, at the sides of her head, and she caught the scent of herself on his fingers as he pulled her down, kissing her frantically, sloppily, his mouth half on hers as he fought for breath, her hair tumbling down around both of their faces so that the perfume of it mixed with the perfume of sex and sweat. He grunted and threw his head back, his throat working, and she lay her head on his shoulder and waited, holding him tightly.

He sank back into the chair, his breath stirring her hair as he stroked her curls away from his face. She settled herself comfortably on his lap and lay on his chest listening to their hearts beat, roughly at first, and then in time together. His arms were loose and exhausted around her hips and he swallowed a number of times, and licked his chapped lips. The sound of his heart was soothing, lulling her into a drowsy state, and she half-dozed on his shoulder for a moment as their breathing slowed to a reasonable rate, and the room grew chillier around them. At last he roused, smoothing her skirts over both of their laps, and kissed her forehead.

"Have I mentioned, my love, just how glad I am to be home?" he asked, and she chucked softly.


End file.
